


The Proposal

by Calvi_sama, Rapscallion



Series: Answered [4]
Category: Final Fantasy VII
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-01
Updated: 2014-12-01
Packaged: 2018-02-27 15:46:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,774
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2698436
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Calvi_sama/pseuds/Calvi_sama, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rapscallion/pseuds/Rapscallion





	The Proposal

 

Spending the money on things hadn't been the hard part. It hadn't been difficult at all, really, especially not when compared to the interpersonal aspect of it all. Figuring out what sort of clothing was worn for which occasions had required a lot of people-watching, and then finding places that sold the things he needed had required...well, it was probably something a little like indiscriminate stalking.

Still, he'd found the places and picked out some clothing that fit well and seemed to follow current trends. The salespeople had been skeptical of him at first, which probably had as much to do with his worn leathers as it did his red eyes and perpetually messy hair. Money had made them eager enough to help, though, and by the end of his purchase the man on the other side of the counter even recommended something for the hair problem.

Finding and buying that had been an ordeal in itself, and an embarrassing one at that when he'd been completely flummoxed by all the hair jargon. A keratin sounded like something that needed to be shot, and Vincent hadn't known that so many B-vitamins existed. He suspected someone had just been too lazy to give each one its own name.

Finally the clerk had just pressed a couple of products into his hands and fled. Checking out there had been painful, because there were the hair things and new underwear because normal people owned such things, and condoms, because what little Vincent remembered about sex education had involved those, and Cid would probably expect them if they decided to go to bed.

And if they didn't, then, well, he had them anyway, didn't he?

After all that, he chose a bottle of wine through the arduous process of staring for an hour and watching what other people bought. Very few items were repeated, so Vincent ended up buying the one that seemed to be listed at a sale price. Cid would probably approve of saving money here and there.

When the cashier asked for his identification, Vincent had stared at her, too, for a long while. So long, in fact, that she called a supervisor for assistance and, like the hair products person, fled for cover. The supervisor reminded him visually of a taller, greyer Cid, but his clipped tones and the sense of superiority he exuded were as dissimilar as it got from Cid's warmth and cheer. Then again, maybe this man was warm and cheerful with people he cared about.

"Sir, if you can't answer the question then I'll have to ask you to leave," the man-- Fred-- stated, one eyebrow raised and a clear look of impatience on his face.

"I'm sorry. I just...this is all I have," Vincent said, not even knowing what the question had been and remembering only that he'd been asked for ID. He held out his battered, outdated Shinra employee card. It had his face, his name, his date of birth...oh, the man behind the counter wouldn't ever believe him to be so old.

"You're Vincent Valentine? Why didn't you say so? Geeze, they work wonders with cosmetic surgery these days. All right, I believe you. Go on and put that away now."

Vincent blinked but did as he was told, pulling out enough money to cover the total and trying desperately not to feel humiliated. That became difficult when the man whistled and said, "One lucky lady tonight, huh? Going around the world with one of the men who saved it."

Stammering a little, Vincent finally smiled and gave a half-hearted shrug. Next time, he was sending Shera in to do this for him. He could lie about it having anything to do with Cid. Probably.

"Don't be so modest! All of you are like that."

All of...whom? Ex-Turks, or the rest of his and Cid's friends? Neither of those two groups seemed likely to frequent this place, but Vincent figured the answer was the same no matter what the man meant. "We're just people," Vincent reminded him, though it wasn't really true in his case. Or maybe it was. For all he knew, he'd triggered natural aging again by waking permanently from his dark sleep. Time would tell.

He bought a few hours in a hotel to attempt taming his hair, and when he was done, it didn't seem much different from when he'd started. The ends still snagged on each other and frizzed, and parts of it still seemed inclined to fly away entirely. There was nothing for it but a haircut, so he made that stop next, reduced nearly to begging the eager young stylist not to do anything experimental or cut off more than absolutely necessary.

She seemed a little vindictive to Vincent after that, elbowing him and jostling his body in its uncomfortable seat, muttering "oops" now and then and yanking with uncalled-for force. He would not be coming back here, if he had to do this again.

All in all, though, the end result was worth it. He hoped Cid wouldn't mind the change. It seemed best to hide it at first, so Vincent bound it loosely behind him before changing into his new nice clothes and heading home-- in a cab, to avoid scuffing his new shoes.

"Cid," he called, stepping into the house and going in search of the man, feeling like he had forgotten something vaguely important, "are you ready to go?"

“Huh?!” Cid yelled back when he heard Vincent's voice coming toward him down the hallway. Hopping on one foot as he fought to get his dirty boot off of the other, a grease-covered, sweaty Cid Highwind poked his head out of his room and nearly fell, catching himself on the wall with a soft “Wo-ah!"

Once he got his boot off, though, he straightened up and faced Vincent. “Vincent, what are-” he started, but his voice trailed off when he got a good look at the gunman. This time the “whoa” he breathed was one of intense appreciation and he didn't even attempt to hide the open stare he gave his friend, letting his blue gaze travel up and down the lean body. Completely unaware of his ridiculous one shoe on, one shoe off appearance, he leaned an arm against the door frame of his bedroom and whistled softly. “Damn but don't you look good. What's th' occasion?” He grinned widely, the skin at the corners of his eyes crinkling pleasantly.

Cid didn't look ready. He was acting like he didn't know anything about the whole night and they had to be at the restaurant in...what time had he reserved, again? "Cid, why aren't you dressed? We're going to..." he started, then stopped short and sighed. "We were, anyway. I forgot to make the reservations. And definitely forgot to tell you."

With all his work for naught and his plans crumbled to nothing, Vincent couldn't do much but stare at Cid, who was staring at him, and wait for some kind of Highwind-born solution.

Smile fading slowly as Cid realized what Vincent had gone to what appeared to be so much trouble to do. He was unexpectedly, and quite suddenly, moved. “Vincent did ya-?” He stepped awkwardly up to stand in front of his friend. Cid began to reach for Vincent's hips, caught himself at the last minute to examine his palms to make sure they were clean before placing them on their intended target. “Honey, were ya gonna ask me on... t' go out with ya?” He didn't want to go so far as to call it a date for fear that that wasn't exactly what the gunman might have had planned.

"I thought I _had_ asked you already," Vincent complained. "At least there's the...Cid, I left the wine in the cab. I don't think I'm cut out for this," he said seriously, his gaze meeting Cid's as he moved half a step closer just to clear up any uncertainty Cid might have. "I'll just change back into something normal. We can order pizza instead." Again. He'd even let Cid put bacon on the whole thing this time.

Cid blinked. “What? No! Vincent, ya went t' all th' trouble t' do this...” he set his chin stubbornly. “We're gonna do it. Stay right there, I'll be ready in a snap.” Cid pulled his hands away -though he'd much rather have kept them where they were- and ducked back into his room, shedding clothes as he went. “I got a buddy in town that owes me a favor. He knows th' owner o' that swanky new restaurant over 'n Three Rivers -fishin' buddies 'r somethin'- 'n I bet he c'n get us in on short notice,” he hollered from his closet as he tore through the nice clothes he had, which, sadly, didn't amount to much. Finding something that would somewhat complement what Vincent was wearing, he exited his room, naked as the day he was born, and headed for the bathroom. “Just gimme a second t' shower real good then I'll call th' guy.”

What ensued was the fastest shower of Cid's life. Turning the water on hot, he thoroughly soaped and scrubbed every inch of his body twice for good measure followed by a good shampooing of his blond head. He even remembered to shave, for whatever good it would do. Once finished, he hopped out of the shower, did a quick towel dry, then wrapped the towel around his waist to move back to his room where he made a bee line for the phone on the night stand. Picking it up, he quickly dialed the number and pleaded his case once the other party answered the phone.

Vincent felt overwhelmed by the flurry of action. The sight of Cid nude was appealing, but he was gone before Vincent could say as much. While Cid showered, Vincent straightened the mess Cid had made of his closet and such, and by the time the man came back in, Vincent was sitting on the bed and waiting for him.

Cid in just a towel was almost more pleasing, somehow. Maybe it was the idea of being the one to remove the towel from his waist or just push it aside, or maybe just knowing that he already knew what was under there. Cid spoke quickly, too, or at least Vincent was too distracted to pay much attention to what he was saying. "How is it going?" he mouthed, handing Cid his shirt.

Phone propped between ear and shoulder, Cid gave Vincent an encouraging double thumbs up sign before shaking the shirt open and slipping an arm in. “Oh hey Rog, that's really great,” he said when he got the chance to say something, taking the phone in hand again and letting his shirt hang off of his muscular shoulder. “You sure it ain't gonna be too much t' ask-?” He broke the rest of the question off as he was very clearly interrupted. Cid grinned, tried to say something, but didn't get a chance as Roger kept talking. Finally, there was a break in the conversation. “Man, listen, I owe ya a big one fer this, but I got m' date sittin' here waitin' for me and I'm still in a towel, could we maybe continue this next time I'm in the store for parts?” He nodded once, twice and one more time as he concentrated on what Roger was saying. “Time? Uh-” He looked at the clock on his nightstand. “Say an hour? That gonna work? Okay, okay, hey listen, thanks again Rog-” A few more pleasantries were exchanged before Cid was allowed to hang up the phone. He replaced it on its cradle, exhaling in relief.

Cid turned to Vincent. “We're good t' go, Vince,” he said grinning widely. “E's got us down for an hour from now 'n it'll take 'bout thirty mintues t' get t' Three Rivers. Now all I gotta do is finish gettin' dressed.” He pulled his shirt around to slip in his other arm before hurrying over to his dresser to look for a pair of boxers. Finding a pair of silk ones that Shera had gotten him as a gift a while back, Cid dropped his towel in a puddle of fabric around his feet and bent over to put them on, stepping into them and pulling them up over his hips. Next, Cid moved back to the bed and picked up his slacks, winking at Vincent before slipping them on as well. He waited to button them and instead attempted to button up his shirt, surprising himself to see that his hands were shaking.   _What th'?_ he thought. A moment later he realized that he was nervous. He was going on a date with Vincent, something he had wanted to do for an achingly long time. Cid cursed softly when he fumbled with the second button.

Cid seemed to be struggling a little. Probably he had tried to do too many things at once and ended up frying his brain, or something. Vincent chuckled quietly and stood, pushing Cid's hands out of the way and finishing the buttons himself instead. "There you go, Chief," he said, hesitating only briefly before reaching down to tuck in Cid's shirt. He fastened the man's pants around it and adjusted the shirt so that it sat in an aesthetically pleasing way. Vincent hoped it was comfortable, too.

He raised his hands to run through Cid's hair after that, flattening it and mock-combing it out. "There, now you can be seen with me in public. Shall we go?" he asked, checking his pocket for what cash he had left.

Cid had watched Vincent's long, graceful fingers deftly navigate the buttons of his shirt with held breath. He had found it increasingly difficult to breathe after that when Vincent had moved to buttoning his pants and as his friend had situated his shirt, Cid had struggled with not letting the growing erection in his pants give him away. Everything about the situation seemed wrong in the sense that Vincent should be the one _undressing_ him, not putting on the clothes!

Cid caught Vincent's hand when it reappeared from his pocket and brought Vincent's fingers to his lips. He kissed them briefly and literally _forced_ himself not to reach for Vincent's face and kiss the gunman dizzy. There were so many things he wanted to do with Vincent at that moment and the last of them was go out to eat at a damn restaurant! “Thank ya Vincent,” he said hoarsely, managing to grin at his friend. “I- uh, I'm still a little surprised at all o' this.” Cid gestured between them to indicate the scenario, but his gaze traveled back to Vincent's face. “But  _damn_  you look good,” he blurted.

"I'm glad you think so," Vincent said, feeling warmly amused. He liked Cid's surprised face, if that was what he was seeing. Then again, he didn't think it was only surprise, but that could wait for later.

Vincent returned the kiss to Cid's hand and then let the man go, turning to head toward the door. "I'll meet you at the truck. Wouldn't want to be late."

Cid watched Vincent leave his room, head cocked and his own amused smile on his lips. Vincent was trying so hard for him, even Cid wasn't so dense as to not notice, and he wondered when Vincent would remember his own sense of self. Cid wondered if Vincent even could, or if Vincent would continue to mimic the things that he did. Chuckling to himself, Cid decided that whatever Vincent decided to do, he would support his friend. Vincent was special, Cid knew that, and if not remembering made Vincent happy, why, then that would be just fine with him. It was enough that Vincent was with him and trusted him. Besides, if what Vincent had obviously gone through that day for him were any indication, then Vincent would probably be all right.

Cid followed Vincent to the front door, grabbing a suit jacket as he went and scribbling a quick note to Shera that he and Vincent were going out and would be back later that evening before shutting the front door behind him. Vincent was waiting by the truck for him and Cid held up the keys and gave his friend a large grin. “Ya ready, Vince?” he asked, opening the driver's side and sliding into the cab.

Vincent nodded and climbed into the other side of the cab, fastening his seatbelt and frowning at the way it wrinkled the cloth of his jacket and shirt. "Have you been to this place? I haven't heard of it." Not, of course, that Vincent had been reviewing restaurants in the area. It just seemed like a fair point of conversation. He watched out the window, as he always did when they drove, but this time he did most of his watching through the window on Cid's side to better appreciate the man's profile. "You don't look half bad yourself," he added before Cid could answer, turning his head away after that.

“Heh,” Cid replied, taking one hand off of the steering wheel to rub the back of his neck awkwardly. “Uh- well, thank ya Vincent. I'm glad I could clean up nice enough t' not embarrass ya.” _Poor answer Highwind_ , he thought with a wince. Cid fell silent for a little while, lost in thought before he remembered to answer Vincent's first question: “Nope, haven't been there, but I've heard of it. Supposed t' be pretty good. The fella who owns it bought it 'bout six months ago. Spent a small fortune renovatin' th' buildin' 'n bringing chefs over from Junon, so I'm hopeful.”

Vincent nodded and made a small sound of affirmation. "I think you're particular enough about who you'd owe a favor that I feel safe eating there, at least." Reintroduction to certain foods had not gone so well at all for Vincent, but he didn't think Cid knew about that. He'd taken care to disappear for a while after eating something that didn't settle well into his digestive system.

"I'm sure it will be very good. High-end places usually are. Were," he corrected, frowning. Everything seemed overpriced for the quality to him these days, but maybe it would be different with this place. "You'll let me buy you dinner, won't you?" he asked, suddenly suspicious. "It was my idea, and besides that I forgot to tell you the plan."

Cid's knee-jerk reaction was to vehemently prohibit Vincent spending any money on him, but he stomped that reaction quite firmly. Vincent was right. It had been his friend's idea and Cid had no right butting into that. Suddenly the fact that _Vincent_ had asked him on a date reasserted itself and he felt a shiver of delight run down his spine. Was this how women felt when men asked them on a date? Cid wondered, and snickered to himself when he thought of himself in that position. He grinned and glanced over at Vincent. “Why I'd be honored if ya bought m' dinner, Vince!” he said with a wink.

Vincent wasn't positive about the honesty of Cid's words; the man had agreed too easily. "Good," he said anyway, and then reached for the radio and tuned it to a station with as little static as he could find. He kept the sound low so Cid could speak over it if he wanted to.

Interpreting the radio being turned on as Vincent ready for some silence, Cid let his friend be. Unfortunately, their easy silence opened up an opportunity for Cid to be alone with his thoughts. Despite his best efforts, he kept running over ways for the evening to go poorly, most of them involving his inability to control what came out of his mouth. He so wanted this evening with Vincent to go well, to give the gunman a chance to enjoy himself and validate his decision to come back into civilization. Cid kept his eyes on the road and after a particularly long stretch, he was surprised when his hands began to hurt. Glancing down quickly, he noticed that he had been gripping the steering wheel with white knuckles. Chuckling to himself nervously, he forced his hands to relax. He was granted a reprieve when a song came on the radio that he knew, and he flexed his fingers and concentrated on the song instead instead. So went the rest of the drive: Vincent appearing to sit contentedly, watching the road fly by and Cid trying desperately not to let on just how terrified he was of this impending date.

Finally, after about twenty agonizing minutes, he pulled the truck into a parking spot near the front of the restaurant. Cid turned off the truck and popped the door open to get out. As he was doing so, he glanced in the rear view mirror and noticed that his hair, now dry, was going in every which direction, though straight up seemed to be the general consensus. “Oh no,” he breathed, running blunt fingers through it to try and tame it at least a little. Unfortunately, such agitation only seemed to make his hair mad, and in retaliation to the finger-combing, it stood up even more. “Oh dammit!”

Cid was not a vain man. In fact, he could care less about what he looked like in most situations. This was not a normal situation. He was on a date with Vincent. Vincent had gone through a gauntlet to get himself ready for this surprise and, well, Vincent looked amazing, and here was Cid: rumpled shirt, suit coat that probably hadn't been washed as often as it should have -come to think of it, Cid couldn't remember the last time he'd worn it, much less the last time it had been washed-- stained hands and hair that absolutely refused to cooperate. Hell, he probably even smelled funny. With no choice to but concede defeat, Cid turned a pleading, apologetic look in Vincent's direction.

Vincent was a little concerned about the way Cid had been so quiet on their way here. Cid had seemed eager and excited enough before they'd left, but now he wondered if he'd inconvenienced the man with this trip. He hadn't even asked if Cid had already had plans, or if Cid liked the kind of food served here or even if he enjoyed going out.

In the parking lot, though, it was Cid who looked uncertain. Uncertain and...insecure? It was more than a little charming, watching him rearrange himself in the mirror, and Vincent couldn't think of anything to do but lean over and kiss the man once, quickly, before getting out of the truck. He walked around to Cid's side of the truck and opened his door. "I think I was supposed to drive. I hope it didn't ruin the experience for you."

Cid sat on the driver's side, unmoving and blinking. His lips tingled from Vincent's quick kiss and as his friend opened the door, it was all Cid could manage just to slide out and stand facing Vincent. Leaning back against the frame of the cab, Cid laughed awkwardly and rubbed the back of his neck. “Ruin? Heh, nope. Not at all,” he added quickly before holding his arm out for Vincent to precede him into the restaurant. “Shall we?”

Vincent took Cid's arm and led them to the door of the restaurant, and only once there in front of it did he pause and look at Cid, worried. "Will it be all right that we're here together? You said you have friends with ties to the place. Will they..." He let go of Cid's arm, figuring he already knew the answer. He didn't think he could bear being the reason Cid's friends alienated him.

“What?” It took Cid a minute to catch up with what Vincent was saying. When it hit and he saw Vincent's reaction to it, he felt anger. Pulling his friend to a stop, he turned to face Vincent, catching those incredible red eyes with his own. “S'what if they don't like it? If it bothers 'em it bothers 'em, if it don't then it don't, but I'll tell ya this Vince: all of 'em put t'gether don't equal half 'o you, 'n what they think ain't important. You know who I am 'n that's all that matters. All right?”

Vincent didn't see how that could be true, how one person could mean so much and how Cid had no worries. Maybe, most likely, Cid would regret his nonchalance about it later. Vincent nodded, but didn't take his arm again. He opened the door instead for them to go through, waiting for Cid and wondering. Had Cid been with men before and gone into public places with them? That would explain it, but Vincent found that he didn't like to think about it.

That was funny, because thinking of Cid having been with Shera or with with other women hadn't raised any abnormal feelings, but thinking that Cid might have had other men in his life...Vincent thought he might be experiencing jealousy. It made him feel like a child, demanding and pathetic, and even as he vowed not to tell Cid, he decided to ask about previous partners. Maybe over dinner. Was that rude? Vincent's heart caught when Cid next spoke until he realized the man was responding to his earlier remark.

“H'yep, sure is,” Cid agreed, letting his eyes roam around the lushly decorated interior as he sat down, pulling the ends of his suit coat out from under him as he settled into his side of the booth. Finally Cid got situated and let his gaze return to his company where it remained, quite firmly. He stilled as he watched Vincent's face. The soft lighting complemented the gunman's pale complexion and Cid was struck again how beautiful Vincent was. It wasn't a pretty face, not with the long nose, high forehead and sharp angles, but Vincent's face was elegant, aristocratic and very striking.

Cid indulged himself in watching Vincent's mouth; the ex-Turk's lips were stern, but he knew from experience that Vincent's lips were definitely worth kissing, firm and yet soft in all the right places. Belatedly, Cid wondered what else Vincent's mouth might be good at doing...

With a cough, Cid put a halt to those thoughts, rubbing the back of his neck, his face flushing a deep pink as he glanced away to the side. Cid made a mental note to try and behave himself tonight. When he looked back, his gaze was drawn to Vincent's unique eyes. The red in them almost appeared faceted, a rich crimson with a ring of orange around the pupil. The light above their booth seemed to make them glow ever so slightly. Cid shivered and before he could stop himself, he reached out and brushed back an errant strand of black hair. Yeah, he was pretty far gone, Cid decided, bringing his hands back in front of him. He smiled at Vincent. “Nice,” he echoed softly.

Vincent watched Cid watching him, feeling a little ...something. Not overwhelmed, but pretty close. The man touched him and looked at him with so much reverence sometimes, and Vincent only hoped he could prove to be worth it.

"I'm glad you wanted to come with me," he said, reaching across the table to reclaim one of Cid's hands, experimentally holding it with his own. If Cid had spoken the truth about not caring what other people thought, then this shouldn't bother him. He even left it there through sheer force of will when someone came by to ask them about drinks.

To his utter amazement, the girl didn't so much as bat an eye as he asked for just a glass of water and Cid ordered a beer. She even smiled at them before walking away to retrieve the beverages.

Vincent looked to Cid after that, warmly amused by the waitress' politeness and Cid's adherence to normal routine. "You won't mind if I have some? I wasn't sure what to ask for."

Cid smiled at Vincent and squeezed his hand briefly, though he did not let it go. It felt... odd, to hold another man's hand in such an obviously intimate manner, and yet with Vincent, it seemed right, like the only natural thing to do. Cid felt bemused by this, but hardly bothered. “Not at all,” he replied. “Best way t' find out if ya want somethin' is t' try some 'o everyone else's first.” He winked at Vincent and sighed softly. “I'm happy t' be here. Th' truth of it ,Vince is I'd wanted t' do this for a very, very long time, but hadn't had th' balls t' ask ya. I was afraid y'd be, I dunno, insulted 'r creeped out 'r somethin'.” Cid admitted sheepishly.

That was a little surprising, and comforting. "I'd be glad to go with you any time," he told Cid. "Don't be afraid of me. It'll make things difficult," he teased, squeezing Cid's hand and releasing it. "Cid," he began, uncertain how he should approach the subject or if he should at all. "Did you say that you'd been with other men? Before?"

Cid blinked at Vincent, startled by the question. “No, I don't reckon I ever said that, why d'ya ask?”

"I just wondered," Vincent said, almost regretting asking already. "Since you didn't seem concerned about what people would think. It was something to be kept very quiet, the last time I went out with anyone. He wasn't nearly as handsome as you," he added, halfway teasing but also hoping to answer Cid's questions before they could be asked.

Cid took a moment to digest what Vincent had just told him. “I just figured it was nobody's business but ours what we did t'gether,” he said with a shrug. He wasn't sure what to think of Vincent's admitting he had at least been associated with another man. Then again, given how Vincent looked, Cid wouldn't be at all surprised if he had had both men and women beating down the door to be with him. In the end, though, what had happened between Vincent and another was Vincent's business and not his. “Flattery, Vince, will get ya everywhere,” Cid said, waggling his eyebrow and grinning at his friend. “Though I think ya might'a hit yer head at some point 'cause last I checked, I'm no catch.” Cid chuckled goodnaturedly.

"You must not be checking very closely, then." He hoped Cid didn't really think so little of himself. The perfect face he might not have, but his complexion was appealing and his physical state was astounding. Vincent had avoided strong men when he'd been younger, wanting to be seen only with the slim, attractive sort of young men who would make _him_ appear to be the strong one. They'd been largely unfaithful and not devoted in the slightest. Those things hadn't been important then, but they were now, and Cid was different in every way. It made him the perfect catch, as far as Vincent could tell.

Cid shrugged, grin still in place. “Each unto their own, 'r so I'm told,” he said, easing back against the seat. “I know I ain't perfect, but it don't bother me any.” At that moment, their drinks arrived, and Cid, grateful to have a distraction from this line of discussion, gladly accepted his beer and took a long drink before offering it to Vincent to try.

Cid was so easygoing about everything, and Vincent had so much trouble understanding how he could be so very casual. "I really do wish I could be more like you. Just go all out and let everyone think what they want. I'm trying," he said, which probably went without saying given that he'd just been clinging to Cid's hand.

Cid wasn't even arrogant about being casual the way some people were. It just was, and Vincent thought a man probably had to be born with that kind of presence. He sipped a little of Cid's beer, frowning at the taste of it. He recalled the taste easily enough, but he thought now that there had been a brand he'd preferred above the others. "Do you know if they still make...I can't remember the name. It came in a blue bottle and brewed dark." Dark and bitter, and everyone had laughed so much at the sight of Vincent drinking it.

Cid's expression grew thoughtful as he took the bottle back and took another drink. “Blue bottle, blue bottle,” he muttered, thinking hard. “I ain't a real, what'd'ya call 'em, conisser 'o beers, but I seem t' remember somethin' comin' out 'o Junon in a blue bottle. Somethin' t' do with ShinRa, 'r hell, maybe not. I don't rightly recollect Vince, 'm sorry.” He looked apologetically at his friend.

A what? Vincent started to ask, but Cid's meaning became clear as he continued speaking, and Vincent hid a grin. "It might have been related to ShinRa. Many things were, in the company's prime." Before mako usage had gotten so ridiculous, ShinRa had actually been good for the planet's people. It was sad to think of the sorry way it had all ended...if it had ended. Sometimes just knowing that Rufus remained alive made Vincent's fingers twitch with the imagined need to reach for his gun.

"If you weren't with me, I don't think I could be here armed as little as I am," he said, changing topics. "I would tell myself things like ...'you have to be ready to protect civilians at any moment,' but the truth is just that I've become so used to needing to protect myself." Sometimes he wondered if he might actually be a little afraid of the world, but he wasn't sure how to tell.

Comfortable with Vincent's shifts in conversation, Cid went with the flow. He shrugged easily. “I don't blame ya, honey. What with what ya were trained t' do then what ya had t' do, mostly t' survive. I 'magine it's hard t' tell yerself that's it's over 'n ya don't need t' do that anymore.” He took another drink of the beer and watched Vincent across the table. _'N then t' look in th' mirror 'n be reminded of it all over again..._  “But I think yer doin' real well with it.”

Vincent nodded. He felt like he'd been doing pretty well. There was still a knife in his pocket and he could still look around the room and see exits, weak points, potential weapons and potential safe places for cover. Taking away guns didn't take away his knowledge of things, and having that knowledge there both made him feel safer and made him think about it all more. "Well," he said, shifting in his seat and changing tracks once again. "I haven't even looked at the menu. What's good here?"

Cid laughed, a rich if slightly raspy sound that rumbled up from his belly. “Vincent, I ain't been here either! I got no idea!” He slid one of the menus over towards Vincent and took up his own. Opening it, he glanced over each page. Cid squinted at the page before turning the menu sideways. “'The hell?” He snorted. “I dunno what half 'o this shit means...what th' hell does a la cart-e mean?” He began to mumble under his breath about fancy words and writing letters to whomever was responsible for making menus unintelligible.

He snagged a waitress as she passed by their table. “'Scuse me ma'am, but what th' hell does all this mean? All I want's a nice big 'ol steak 'r somethin', where's th' cow section?”

The waitress, to her credit, didn't react to Cid's rather blunt approach to menu navigation and walked him through what some of the words meant on the menus and gradually Cid began to understand. “Well shit! Why didn't y'all say so in th' first place? Why ya gotta use all them fancy words! Thank ya ma'am, I think I'll be okay now,” Cid said, giving her a wink as she returned to what she had been doing before Cid snagged her attention.

Vincent had sat quietly through the explanation, listening and absorbing the information himself. He still had no idea what he would want, because the menu offered none of the things that Cid and Shera usually kept around the house. When their waitress returned, Vincent decided that a vegetarian pasta dish sounded good, but by the time she had taken Cid's order --at Vincent's prompting for him to go first-- he had changed his mind and decided to go for the smoked salmon instead. He hoped it would be good, and the steamed vegetables that accompanied it should at least be pleasing. "And an order of breadsticks?" he asked, looking to Cid. Bread was always a good thing, as far as Vincent knew.

Cid met Vincent's eyes and shrugged. “S'fine with me,” he said and after the waitress had finished writing down their order, she took their menus and left, leaving the two men alone again. Cid huffed and took another drink of his beer. “Not sorry t' see that thing go,” he grunted, unconsciously running his hand through his blond hair, causing it to strand straight up again. “Never understood folks who turned fixin' food inta an art. Food's food. S'long as it ain't movin' 'r makin' strange noises I'm happy.”

Vincent laughed, quietly of course, and nudged one of Cid's feet with his own under the table. "Sounds like you should never let me cook, then. It definitely wouldn't be artistic, but there would be no guarantees about the strange noises." His hand crept over to steal one more taste of Cid's beer when the man replaced it on the table. He hoped Cid wouldn't mind, but as the pilot himself had said, the only way to find things out was to try them.

Cid grinned as he watched Vincent steal another drink of his beer. He'd have to order another one soon. “Well at least it'd be interestin'!” he said. “Y' should try it, though maybe when Shera's not around. I'm not sure how she'd react if 'er dinner got up 'n started runnin' around 'er plate.” Cid snickered, he couldn't help himself. When he got himself back under control, he put his chin in his hand and just watched Vincent happily. Oh, the trouble they could get into with Shera out of the house.

"If I make something at your request, you have to run it down," Vincent told him, failing to feel as stern as he wanted to sound. It didn't take long for their food to arrive, which was nice because Vincent had sort of run out of things to talk about and had fallen quiet.

Cid's steak looked to be cooked just right, and the scent of it made Vincent's mouth water a little. He nearly regretted his own food choice until the plate was set in front of him, bright fresh vegetables and a nice cut of fish. Even with that in front of him, he made for the plate of breadsticks first, smiling as he broke one in half and handed one portion to Cid.

Mouth already filled with a bit of steak, Cid accepted the breadstick and bit off a bit from the end. The light, buttery flavor of the slightly sweet dough was a nice accent to the rich flavor of the meat. He gestured to his steak with his fork. “'S pretty good, Vince, ya wanna try a bite?” He asked.

Vincent shrugged and reached over to cut off a piece of the steak. The flavor was heavy and rich, setting off all sorts of taste receptors or whatever they were. It was good, spices and a little sauce and the overhanging smell of it-- until he bit down to find the texture.

Still he chewed through it, trying to focus on the flavor, and somehow he managed to swallow. The tiny bite felt huge going down his throat, and he quickly washed it down with water. "I think I remember now why I've been avoiding dinner when there's beef." He glanced apologetically at Cid. "Thank you for letting me try. Would you like a piece of fish?" Cid didn't really strike him as a fish sort of man, but it was only polite to extend the offer.

If Cid had known Vincent's thoughts, he would have agreed with his friend; however, Cid was also not one to turn down trying new things. As a rule, he tended to avoid most fish, the lingering aftertaste having never sat well with him, but maybe this time would be different. He shrugged. “Sure, I reckon I could try a bite,” he said, accepting a small forkful from Vincent. Cid put it in his mouth and began to chew, but as soon as he teeth came down on the light, flaky meat, he froze. The overwhelming flavor of fish did a marvelous job of eradicating the rich flavor of the steak, and it was with great effort that he continued to chew and finally swallow it.

“And that just reminded me why I'm a catch 'n release man,” Cid grunted unapologetically. “I'm sure it's cooked well an' gettin' rave reviews 'n shit, but I can't do salmon, nosir.” He reached for his beer, thought twice when he thought about the flavor of the beer intermixing with that of the fish and reached for another bite of steak instead. He shuddered. “No offence, Vince, but you c'n keep yer fish.”

"Likewise with the steak," Vincent said, catching a smile before it could take over his face. He was enjoying himself, and wasn't that bizarre? They weren't even doing anything unusual, but it didn't seem to matter. "I enjoyed the flavor, though. Everything really is very nice here." When the next waitress passed, Vincent asked for a glass of wine that would compliment the fish. He was a little surprised when she returned with red instead of white, but was pleasantly surprised when he tried them together.

"Want to try any of this?" he asked, holding out the glass toward Cid.

“S' long as it don't come with th' fish!” Cid chuckled and accepted the glass of wine. He took a careful sip and smacked his lips together a couple of times before frowning and taking another cautious sip. He seemed to confirm something before handing the glass back. “I dunno, s'dry,” Cid said, shaking his head. “Somethin' not right 'bout drinking somethin' 'n havin' it dry out'chur mouth. Make ya feel like yer suckin' on a cotton ball, but once ya get past that it ain't too bad.”

Suddenly Vincent was glad that he'd lost the bottle of wine in the cab. There would have been nothing more painfully awkward than watching Cid down glass after glass of something he disliked just to be polite. Then again, maybe Cid wouldn't have. He wasn't quite like Vincent that way. "I'll be sure to stick to beers when I buy you drinks," he said solemnly, one eyebrow lifted so Cid might see that he wasn't entirely serious.

Cid laughed. “Only if ya wanna get me drunk, Vincent,” he said with a wink. “Think I'll stick with tea when we're just relaxin' t'gether. Don't wanna miss any time with ya.” He cut more bites of his steak and filled his mouth, watching Vincent happily.

"I suspect you'd make a rather charming drunk, actually," Vincent mused before taking another bite of fish. That was for another time, though. Dinner was over soon enough, and neither of them could even stand listening to the waitress listing dessert options.

He paid the bill before Cid could have a chance to protest, simply handing the girl a large bill and telling her to keep the change. She responded by dropping off a small handful of dinner mints, which was a lucky thing, because Vincent didn't think Cid would appreciate the taste of fish if they kissed.

"I'm afraid I'm rather bad at dancing," Vincent admitted, which seemed pointless as there was nowhere around to dance anyway. "Is there something else you want to do, while we're out?" he asked, full and oddly content as they walked back to the truck.

Cid, belly full, shook his head. “Nah,” he said, shoving his hands into his pockets as they walked slowly. “I'm actually kinda sleepy,” he admitted, removing a hand to rub his stomach contentedly. Cid looked at Vincent sheepishly. “Guess I'm not much of a date, huh? Not very excitin'. I s'ppose I'm gettin' a little old. Hey, Vince?” He pulled his friend to a stop by touching Vincent's elbow. Meeting the gunman's red gaze, Cid smiled. “In case I ferget t' tell ya later 'r somethin'... thanks fer t'night.”

"Thank you for joining me," Vincent responded, giving a small smile. "I can say safely it's the best date I've been on in at least thirty years." A little bit of rest didn't sound half bad to Vincent, either, and he could hardly fault Cid for wanting just that after such a filling meal. Without even looking around, Vincent leaned down to press his lips to Cid's briefly. "At least there's no question about whether you get to take me home."

If there was one truism about Vincent, it was that he always knew how to throw Cid off balance. He was being awfully generous with those kisses, Cid thought, not that he had any problem with that whatsoever. Cid's hands positively itched to touch Vincent; his arms wanted to go around the man and hold him, his thigh wanted to press in between Vincent's legs, and so much more, but instead of acting on any of those things, he grinned back at his friend. “H'yep,” he winked at Vincent. “And I didn't even have 't get'cha drunk first!” He laughed and held the door open for Vincent.

On the way home, Vincent wondered just what might happen if Cid did get him drunk, if he even could. One day they might find out.

"I don't understand how it's so much quieter with Shera out of the house, even though she's so quiet already," Vincent commented. "Will she be okay for so many days on her own?" Not that she was alone-alone, not truly. Vincent still felt a vague urge to pop over to check up on her sometime. He wasn't sure when he had gotten quite so protective.

Cid smiled, not taking his eyes off of the road. “She may be quiet, but she has a certain presence about 'er, it's true,” he said affectionately. “She's made things bearable for me.” That was true, too. If Shera hadn't been around, Cid had little doubt that he would have grown bitter and resentful of everyone else going off to live their own lives and forgetting about him. He was afraid to think about how he would have felt about Vincent if Shera hadn't been around, her presence alone reminding him of what he had in his friends.

Vincent nodded, turning his head a little to watch the scenery pass in the dark. "I'm glad she stayed with you, and you with her. I'm sure you're both better people for it." Cid was the first true friend Vincent had kept in a long while, and he wasn't sure if that even counted anymore.

“Me too,” Cid said softly. They drove in silence for a while, each lost in their own thoughts, or at least Cid was. He was intensely conflicted. He couldn't deny that he loved Shera, had even come to depend on her in a way, and he couldn't imagine what his life would be like without her there in the background, but he hadn't lied when he told Vincent that he was in love with him. Cid desired Vincent in a way that was as unsettling as it was exhilarating. So many times he tried to understand what it was that attracted him to the gunman.

Was it only physical attraction? He couldn't deny the way his thoughts wandered to inappropriate places when he was around Vincent, and he had lost count of the number of times that he had caught himself wanting to try things with his friend, but when he tried to think of Shera that way he felt... nothing. His body didn't heat up like it did with Vincent; there were no butterflies in his stomach, his heart didn't pound, and his cock didn't get hard. There was more, though, about Vincent than there was about Shera. Cid admired Vincent's strength, respected it, just like he respected Vincent's opinions on things.

Vincent seemed to understand him far better than Shera did. He could talk to Vincent, tell him his fears and know that Vincent would never judge him for it, probably because Vincent understood and in a way had been there himself. Shera tempered him, though, was the soft curves to his hard angles. He felt like by having Shera around him, he could feel things better, be more emotional. Could it be that he needed them both?

Vincent wondered if he'd ever had a friend like that and just never noticed. Probably he had; he'd had an awful habit, when he'd been younger, of not valuing people appropriately. He wouldn't make that mistake with Cid.

He wasn't sure he understood why Cid wanted to be with him when Shera was there, but he did understand that things like that couldn't always be explained. "Does she know?"

Cid knew exactly what Vincent was talking about. He sighed, moving his elbow to the door and propping his chin on his palm, the other hand steady on the wheel. “I dunno, prob'ly,” he snorted softly. “Women have a habit 'o pickin' up on shit like that. 'Sides I uh- haven't exactly been tryin' real hard t' hide it.” Cid blushed a little at some of his behavior as of late. “I don't wanna hurt 'er though, Vincent. I don't think I could live with m'self if I hurt 'er.”

Then what did they even do? If their being together would hurt Shera, and if Cid couldn't do that, then where did that leave Vincent? Giving up everything for a man who changed his mind for someone else's sake? Then again...that was one of the things he liked best about Cid, and if anyone could find a way to make things work out, it was this man.

"If she planned to be hurt, I think you would have known by now." He agreed with Cid on the fact that Shera probably knew more than they had guessed. "I hope she won't be." He could live with himself; had hurt far more people in far deeper ways and gone on, but he wouldn't be very happy about it.

“You're prob'ly right,” Cid said, nodding his head. “She's tough, have t' be t' live with me, huh?” He laughed a little, but it sounded a little flat to him. _Man listen t'me,_  he thought sourly, _I'm gettin' all melancholy!_   Not now, not after such a nice night with Vincent. Shaking his head, Cid shrugged off his brooding silence and grinned. “Hope she's havin' fun at Barret's dig site. If anyone c'n handle th' big guy, it's her.”

"I'm sure she is." It was too easy to imagine, when he put his mind to it, Shera shocking Barret into silence with a sudden example of her stubbornness. "He won't know what to do with himself, if she and Marlene team up on him."

Cid threw his head back and laughed. “Poor bastard!” He shook his head, grinning from ear to ear. “Women are dangerous, regardless 'o their size, ain't no doubt. I don't envy th' poor guy that's fer sure!” Nor did he have any sympathy. Indeed, Cid still harbored a bit of a grudge against Barret for shooting holes in the roof his hangar.

Vincent half-smiled as he turned back toward the window. He liked hearing Cid laugh, especially when he knew he was the one to make the sound happen. "Just hope they never turn it on you instead," he added, corners of his mouth twitching even more at that image. "I'll protect you if they do," Vincent promised. "Unless you deserve it."

“That a threat, honey?” Cid asked, raising an eyebrow and grinning over at Vincent. “Maybe it's you who'll need th' protectin'. Remember how well th' movie with Shera went.”

Vincent remembered. "Marlene adores me," he protested, not without a hint of pride in his voice. "I'd have to do something truly awful." He didn't want to consider what that might be, to get the both of them so upset. "I'm far more well-mannered than Barret." That, he knew for sure.

They would be home soon, still warm and content after a good meal and alone in the house for possibly the first time since Vincent had arrived. Certainly for the first time since they had kissed, and Vincent was slightly surprised to find that he didn't feel nervous at all. He always would have before, but he supposed he was quite thoroughly over things like that now. He hoped Cid wouldn't mind.

Cid rubbed his nose. “I c'n agree with that, y' are better mannered. He winked at Vincent. “Smell better too.” On a sudden whim, he reached over and patted Vincent's knee closest to him. “I doubt very much that you c'd do somethin' s' bad t' turn little Marlene against ya, honey. That kid's got a way 'o seein' into a person... s' creepy.”

"All children are creepy," Vincent assured Cid. "I bet she'll know you said Barret smelled bad, next time she sees you." He rested his hand over Cid's for a moment, then remembered that the man probably needed that in order to drive. He led it just a bit higher up his thigh before releasing it, pretending nonchalance as he simply continued looking out the window.

If there had been other vehicles on the road, Cid would have probably had a head-on collision with them. His attention to the road had been quite thoroughly redirected to Vincent's leg, more specifically Vincent's thigh. Swallowing hard, he spread his fingers and slowly squeezed the flesh under them, pressing down and rubbing, watching greedily. Headlights and a sudden car horn broke the spell and Cid swerved back into his lane with a muttered curse. “Yer teasin' me, Valentine,” he said hoarsely. “Y' keep that up n' y'll kill us both.” Cid's hand retreated back to the steering wheel where it gripped firmly.

Cid's gaze returned to the windshield and as another car passed, the headlights illuminated Cid's face briefly to reveal a tightly clenched jaw.

That was interesting. Vincent hadn't expected Cid to react quite so strongly, or to react at all, really. It was flattering and just a little exhilarating to realize that such a simple action had created such a potent reaction. His body was experiencing its own reaction; Cid's touch had warmed him just a little further, and Vincent hadn't felt _that_ in...too long. Far too long.

"You're the one who can't keep his hands to himself," Vincent pointed out, shifting in his seat to cross his ankles. Maybe he wouldn't be such a temptation that way.

“And yer th' one who's takin' an innocent touch a bit further,” Cid shot back without rancor, keenly aware of the sweat that prickled at his hairline. “Dammit Vincent. Y' know how how I feel 'bout 'cha,” he muttered in frustration.

"I didn't," he corrected. "Not quite." He figured he did now, though. There was no denying and no questioning what had just happened. "Anyway, we're almost home now." They'd be on their street in another two turns, and then he supposed Cid wouldn't have any more reason to keep his hands to himself. That would be very interesting too. Vincent doubted the touches would remain so innocent as Cid claimed this one had been.

“Yeah, we're almost home,” Cid said almost too low to hear. He waited for his heart rate to slow down, but it didn't. The blood throbbed through his veins and he was hyper-aware of Vincent sitting next to him; the man's presence, the sound of his breathing and the clean smell of his skin. Cid dragged slow breaths into his lungs and focused on keeping the truck steady and smooth.

Vincent could smell Cid, too, the scent of sweat and arousal matching the sounds Vincent heard: forced deep breaths with shaky exhales, the occasional quiet muttering-- he could have sworn that he even heard Cid's heart pumping at double time. He'd had absolutely no idea that Cid wanted to touch him so badly.

"Are you still tired?" he asked, unable to keep the light note of teasing from his voice as he glanced toward Cid, lashes lowered to hide the mirth in his eyes. Once, he had been the outrageously eager one and someone else had found him amusing, no doubt. Not that Vincent hadn't begun to find himself quite eager indeed, wondering about rough hands against his skin and that harsh breathing against his ear.

“You know I'm not,” Cid whispered raggedly, sliding blue eyes over toward Vincent, blue eyes that were so dark from desire that they were nearly black. Somehow he managed to pull the truck into the driveway. Somehow he managed to put it into park and kill the engine, but he was unable to pry his hands from the wheel. “Don't tease me, Vincent,” Cid said, his tone low, voice almost raspy. “Not t'night.” He truly did not know if he would be able to control himself if Vincent continued to poke at him as though he found his discomfort amusing.

"You're so sure that I'm teasing," Vincent mused, reaching over to cup Cid's cheek and turn the man's face toward his. Cid's skin was so warm, his pupils so wide. "Why would I do that to you?" he asked in a murmur, fingers gentle as they stroked over Cid's skin and through his hair.

Cid began to tremble the longer Vincent continued to touch him. He gripped the steering wheel even harder. Every fiber of his being demanded he reach out to Vincent, wrap his arms around him and touch him; touch everywhere with both hands and lips. Cid literally _hurt_ the need was so great, but he held himself perfectly still instead. “I don't know Vincent, why would you?” he whispered, somehow unable to speak normally.

Did the man think of him that way? Had Vincent proven himself to tease so much before? He made a soft sound, part concern and part sympathy. He leaned forward and kissed Cid's forehead, reaching for the wheel to pry Cid's hands away from it. "I wouldn't. Do I seem that cruel?"

He pulled away before Cid could answer, sliding from his seat and making his way to Cid's side of the truck. He barely stopped himself from wrenching open the door instead of opening it normally, more worried about having put Cid in such distress than about anything else. "I think we should go inside now."

Swallowing, Cid nodded, repeatedly wiping his sweaty palms on his slacks. “Yeah,” he said roughly. “Yeah, I reckon we oughta go inside now.” Woodenly, Cid slid out of the driver's side of the truck and closed the door. The fresh air against his skin and filling his lungs helped to clear his head and steady him. Placing his palms against the truck, Cid closed his eyes and focused on taking deep breaths. “I dunno why you affect me like this, Vince, I don't. But'cha do and I can't hardly think straight.”

Vincent had never wanted to touch Cid quite so badly. It came to him in a rush, the force of it leaving him dizzy. Was this what Cid felt all the time? The man certainly made it sound so. "Sometimes thinking can be a bit overrated," he said, his own voice low and a little rough now as he stepped forward, gaze raking down Cid's broad, strong back and lower, over a very nice and suddenly very appealing ass to the thick, sturdy legs that held the man up. It hadn't exactly escaped Vincent that Cid had a very nice body, but he'd never noticed it in such vivid detail before.

Slowly, so as not to surprise Cid too badly, Vincent moved to stand behind him. One arm went around Cid, setting a hand low on the man's belly, and the other rested along Cid's side, the fingers of that hand curling a little over Cid's shoulders. Vincent's hips settled against Cid's body, angled to let the pilot feel just what he had done, and open lips pressed lightly against Cid's neck as Vincent just breathed, trying in his own way to calm the rush he felt. Cid usually made every erratic or uncomfortable feeling fade, but being close to him was only making this one worse...and Vincent wasn't so sure that was a bad thing, really.

Cid's eyelids fluttered as his eyes rolled up in his head. Vincent's hard, lean body pressed up against his back, the gunman's deceptively strong arms around him, forced a low moan from his throat. Then there was what he felt pressed against his ass... Suddenly it got quite difficult to breathe. He shouldn't find something like that arousing, another man's hard cock pressed against him like that, but he did. It made his own cock thicken even more. Vincent's breath against his neck made him shiver and he couldn't stop his hand from coming up and back to fist in that wealth of thick, black hair.

Cid turned his face slightly toward Vincent's, wanting to kiss his friend, while his other hand gripped the arm about his waist hard. “What're ya doin' Vince...” he trailed off, instinctively pressing back a little against Vincent's hips with his own.   _What am I doin'?_  he thought fuzzily.   _Vincent's a man, there's a man behind me, he has an erection, a man... Vincent..._   Cid moaned softly again. He had to touch, he needed to touch. Hell, he needed to fall apart. He'd worry about putting himself back together in the morning, and yet he never wanted morning to come.

Life was full of little conundrums and Cid Highwind was ill-equipped to solve any of them at the moment.

Vincent kissed Cid's neck where his lips had been resting, then raised his head to catch Cid's lips. "I wanted to touch you," he said simply when he pulled away. He tugged against Cid's body with the arm around the man's waist, trying to pry him away from the truck. "Let's go inside."

He hoped Cid hadn't changed his mind. He'd expected flailing limbs and hands all over him by now, and Cid didn't seem inclined to react that way. Being inside would be better, for comfort and for privacy. Vincent wasn't concerned about either for himself, but he thought Cid might appreciate it.

Cid grunted by way of reply and with great difficulty he finally got his legs to move, one foot in front of the other, dutifully following Vincent towards the house. How was Vincent able to function? His friend was aroused, he had felt it, or had he? Maybe he had been imagining things. Cid tried to keep his eyes focused firmly on the ground, watching where he was going, but he couldn't. Instead, his gaze swept up and over Vincent's form, the straight, strong back, wide, proud shoulders, narrow waist... Cid's eyes stayed focused on Vincent's ass for probably longer that it should, then down those impossibly long legs.

He found that he missed Vincent's smell and his nostrils flared as he tried to find it again. His hands twitched by his sides before one hand came up to tug at his collar. What was wrong with him? Vincent unlocked the house and disappeared inside, with Cid close behind him. He shut the door and leaned back against it, breathing heavily and his traitorous eyes squeezed shut.

Vincent turned, intending to lock the door and then press himself to Cid again, but the way Cid was trying to melt into the door with his eyes shut so tight made him stop in his tracks. More concerned now than aroused, Vincent placed a hand on Cid's shoulder and squeezed gently. "Cid? Are you all right?"

Cid jerked at the sound of Vincent voice, more so than the touch on his shoulder. “What? Yeah! Yeah, I'm okay, I'm just-” he rubbed the back of his neck as he searched for words. “I'm just tryin' t', tryin' t' do, something-” He trailed off awkwardly.

That didn't sound like someone who was fine. "I'm sorry. I should have given you your space. I thought you wanted-- I'm sorry," Vincent repeated, dropping his hand and somehow resisting the urge to run it down Cid's chest as he pulled it back to himself. "It felt good to touch you," he added for no reason at all. "Thank you."

Feeling slightly more in control of himself now, Cid cocked his head, watching Vincent. Slowly, he shook it. “Never apologize t' me, Vincent.” He said softly. “Not fer somethin' like that.” Carefully, Cid reached up and pushed Vincent's hair behind one of his ears. “Never in a million years would I 'o thought ya felt anythin' like that fer me. I just-” growing more confident he reached up and placed both hands to either side of Vincent's face. Gently, he feathered his thumb under one of Vincent's incredible red eyes.

“I look at'cha 'n see somethin' precious. I think 'bout what we went through t'gether 'n I see somethin' worth protectin'. I don't wanna overstep m'self. I don't wanna betray what I worked s' hard t' get.” He was rambling a bit, but that was par for the course considering what had just happened.

"I'm not something you've won, to keep on a shelf and wish on." He turned toward one of Cid's palms, kissing it. "I'm flattered that you think so highly of me, but there's no need to worry so much. I'm a grown man, Cid, and my mind doesn't change easily." There was nothing to do but move closer to Cid, letting his arms go around the man's shoulders. "Besides, I hardly call it overstepping yourself if I'm the one dropping all the hints, hm?"

The world couldn't possibly contain another man as thoughtful as Cid. It would implode if it tried, and Vincent was amazed that more people hadn't seen this side of the man.

Cid ground his teeth. In a sudden burst of energy, he turned them around and pushed Vincent back against the door. Placing both hands to either side of Vincent's head he growled. “Dammit Valentine, yer missin' th' point!” He opened his eyes and let his gaze lock with Vincent's. “D' ya honestly think I see ya as some kind 'o fuckin' trophy? I know damn good 'n well yer a grown man 'n c'n take care 'o himself, but I can't help feelin' like-” he screwed up his face in frustration “-like puttin' m'self between you 'n th' rest o' th' world, 'cause th' thought 'o you hurtin' anymore kills me!” Cid stepped closer to Vincent until their noses were nearly touching. “Yer m' friend first, Vincent, 'n y'd have 't kill me b'fore I'd let m'self destroy that by betrayin' yer trust in me.”

Vincent leaned toward Cid, craning his neck to press his lips to Cid's forehead. He stayed there a while, then turned his head to the side to speak. "That's exactly it, Cid. The rest of the world doesn't have any part in this. It's just you, the way you've always been the one at my back. You'd have to put a shameful amount of effort into breaking my trust now. So," he continued, pulling back and letting the wall take his weight. "Will you calm down and kiss me, if I promise that I want you and that it's not about trying to give you what I think you want? The calming down part is optional, by the way. You're very intriguing when you're all worked up."

Cid made a startled sound and pulled back, face going red in embarrassment. Was Vincent making fun of him? “Vince, this ain't a joke,” he said warily, “l-” He stopped himself from potentially making a big mistake. He clenched his jaw and lowered his arms.   _What is wrong with me?_   he thought for the thousandth time.   _I'm actin' like one 'o those guys in Shera's dumbass movies. I'm not s'pposed 't get all mushy 'n shit._ Cid ran a hand through is hair in agitation.

For a moment or two, Vincent didn't understand...and then suddenly he did, and it was another hit to his gut. "Cid," he said softly, picking up on the discomfort written on Cid's features. "I know it isn't. I don't take you lightly, nor do I disregard anything you say. Friends love each other, don't they? You're closer than any friend I've ever known. You don't need to hide from me."

Cid's shoulders slumped. How did he make Vincent understand that it was more than just friendship for him? That Vincent was all he ever thought about? That he lived just about every moment either wondering what Vincent would think about what he was working on to the inevitable excitement of seeing Vincent again when something made him leave home? He didn't think he could, not in a way that Vincent would take seriously, anyway. Instead, he nodded and rubbed the back of his neck again. “I know, honey,” he said softly. “S' just hard, s'all.”   _Boy, is that an understatement,_  he thought.

Maybe he hadn't understood after all. He seemed to have disappointed Cid in some way, and Vincent didn't think he could take any more of that tonight, especially if it would only lead to Cid telling him not to apologize. "I'm going to bed, Cid. Thank you for coming to dinner." He kissed Cid's cheek as he passed, feeling confused and left out.

Blinking, Cid watched Vincent leave, completely stunned at the how things ended up. When Vincent's door softly closed behind him, Cid let out a vile curse, made a fist and punched the wall, cracking and denting the drywall. Eyes burning, he threw open the door and stalked out onto the porch, slamming it behind him. He reached into his pocket and for his pack of cigarettes and pulled one out, but his grip was too rough and he snapped it in half. Flinging the broken cigarette out into the yard with another curse, he retrieved a second one and managed to get that one lit before the burning in his eyes began to make his vision swim.

Sniffing repetitively, he took drag after drag as he replayed the whole night in his head. Vincent had worked so hard to make their date special and in the end he, Cid Highwind, had completely ruined it, like he'd known he would.

Cid was angry with him, that much was obvious by the loud curses and the slamming around. That would have been far easier to handle if Vincent knew at all what the man _wanted_. Vincent felt as if he had tried absolutely everything, and none of it had worked at all.

He started to fold his shucked clothes, then gave up and tossed them into a corner in frustration. Clad only in his newly bought pair of underwear, the only pair of them that hadn't been lost in his cab misadventure, Vincent stalked to the bathroom to wash his face and then went just as quickly back to his room, where he slid into bed and made himself try to want sleep.

It was difficult, because his mind wouldn't stop churning, telling him about all the things he shouldn't have done or could have done differently. Maybe he shouldn't have asked Cid out at all and waited instead for the other man to make that move. Maybe he had somehow threatened Cid's entire world order. Cid might ask him to leave the next day, take away everything he'd given Vincent in the past several months, just because Vincent hadn't gone about this the right way. If that was the case, he thought he understood a little better just then why Cid had been so hesitant, why he had been so concerned about Vincent's trust. Had Cid been trying to warn Vincent about what he was doing?

There were too many things to think about, and no way he could possibly sleep until they all went away. With a heavy sigh, Vincent rolled onto his back and looked up at the ceiling. He wanted to dress again and go outside, but he hadn't heard Cid come back in, and that was asking for trouble.

 

\---

 

After Cid finished his third cigarette he felt calm enough to go back inside. With a sigh, he swiped at the moisture on his cheeks and got up. His body felt so heavy and tired now, and his brain felt wrapped in a giant roll of cotton. He gently closed the front door and locked it before listlessly walking down the hall and into his bedroom where he stripped out of his nice clothes, leaving them in a rumpled heap on the floor. Naked, he walked to his dresser and retrieved a pair of worn boxers and slipped them on before climbing into bed and trying to fall asleep. What he ended up doing was staring at the ceiling as he felt his eyeballs slowly dry out.

He missed Vincent, he missed his friend's warm body and comforting presence. He had screwed up, screwed up badly and hurt Vincent. That much had been obvious as he replayed the gunman's expression again and again as Vincent walked past him to go to bed. With a heavy sigh, Cid sat up and stared into space. He just plain missed Vincent and he owed it to his friend to apologize. Maybe then he could get some sleep.

Sliding out of bed, Cid silently exited his room and padded down the hall to Vincent's. Easing the door open, he slipped into Vincent's dark bedroom. He knew the gunman was awake and aware of his presence by the ever so slight change in Vincent's breathing. “I can't sleep, Vincent,” he whispered softly. “C'n I stay with you, please?” He had no right to ask that of Vincent after what he had put his friend through, but had to try, otherwise he would get no sleep this night or, he feared, many more nights thereafter.

Vincent flipped on the bedside lamp as if to prove that it really was Cid there. Wordlessly, he scooted further to one side of the bed and lifted the covers, the only invitation he could really offer. He'd made so very many tonight already.

He could give Cid shelter here for the night, though, the way his friend had done for him. If they messed up everything else, even Vincent knew that they were at least still friends. "Stay with me any time you need me, Cid," he murmured, the words leaving him without his permission. The night had seen far too many words from them both, as far as he was concerned.

Wordlessly, Cid made his way to Vincent's bed and slipped into it, pulling the covers up over his shoulder. He was facing away from his friend so that he didn't have to see Vincent's disappointed, hurt expression. “I'm sorry, Vincent,” he said hoarsely, a shudder gripping his big body. “I ruined a night I wanted t' be perfect for ya just like I knew I would. I- I kept tellin' m'self t' watch what I said, t' watch what I did 'n be a gentleman, but I screwed up. Y' did all that for me 'n I blew it, 'n I wanted t' tell ya I'm sorry.”

"It was a perfect night until you started thinking about everything," Vincent said, unable to help a tiny smile as he slid his arm around Cid to press his chest to the man's back. "You don't need to apologize for thinking of me. I know it's all you were doing." He paused, pressing a little closer and leaning his head against Cid's. "It takes two fumbling men to ruin a night. I'm afraid I don't really know how to do this so well."

Cid chuckled weakly. “I guess so,” he said, resting his hand on Vincent's arm. He still ached, still wanted, but at least he had Vincent's warmth against him. He could be happy with that, all said and done. “Obviously I ain't much better, honey.”

"A little better," Vincent admitted. "You came back to me." It was more than Vincent would probably have done at any time in his life, and more than he'd expected anyone to do for him. He thought he might just have done it for Cid, though.

Cid lifted his free shoulder easily. “I'd always come back t' ya, Vince,” he said. “Even if ya ripped out m' heart and ground it inta th' dirt I'd always be there for ya.”

"I know you would. I'd have my work cut out for me. That's an awfully big heart you're carrying." Vincent hoped he could never do a thing like that, not to Cid.

Cid smiled. “Not s' big that it don't hurt, Vincent. I think only you have th' power t' do that.” Cid huffed softly. “Listen t' me, I'm turnin' inta damn girl.”

"I've been told I have that power, too. Something about fangirls," he said, frowning. "Yuffie doesn't make sense very often." He sobered, though, wrapping his arm more tightly around Cid. "I'd rather protect your heart than hurt it. I hope you won't mind."

“I wish ya would since I can't seem t' take very good care of it,” Cid said softly. He didn't even try to understand what the hell Vincent was talking about with Yuffie and something called 'fangirls'. It didn't seem very important. “Maybe y'd do better.”

"I'll do my best," he promised. "I have no doubt that you'll return the favor." Cid already had, in so many ways.

“I'll try, honey,” Cid whispered. “I don't ever wanna hurt'cha, but as ya saw t'night, I ain't very good at that either.” He wasn't very good at anything, now that he thought about it, maybe that's why everyone avoided him. Except his airships. They'd never leave him, or make him ache until he wished he were dead.

"Then I'll try, too, and we'll be even." It was sort of surreal, agreeing to something so serious, but it also felt easy with Cid. "Get some sleep, Chief. I'll be here."

“For how long?” Cid breathed before he could stop himself. He tugged the blanket up higher on his shoulder, nearly to his ear. “I'm sorry Vincent, I shouldn't trap ya like that. You don't have t' answer that.” _'Cause I know th' answer to it anyway_ , he thought morosely. “G'night Vince,” he said softly and shut his eyes.

"For as long as you want me, Cid. I hope that's a very long time." He kissed Cid's cheek and curled further around him. "Good night, Cid."

Cid lay there for the next several hours, unable to sleep and unable to completely relax. Every time he tried to will himself to sleep he would see Vincent's hurt, confused expression and it was like a knife was twisted in his heart again and again.   _Is this what love is like?_   He wondered as he stared at the wall.   _I thought it was supposed t' be happy 'n butterflies 'n shit, not this. This is terrible. I'll have t' tell Shera she's full of it th' next time I see 'er. I wonder if it'd be better if I married 'er. Told Vincent it wouldn't work 'n asked 'im t' leave. Maybe then it wouldn't hurt s' much._   Who was he kidding?

If he told Vincent to leave, a part of him would die, and he knew it. Cid's eyes began to burn again and he gritted his jaw and fought it back.   _Goddam! What th' hell's wrong with me! Get a fuckin' grip, Highwind._ Maybe he ought to get up. It was obvious that he wouldn't be getting any sleep. He wanted another cigarette.

Vincent couldn't sleep either, not with Cid so tense in his arms, but there didn't seem to be anything else to say. It got to be just a little ridiculous after too long, though. "Cid. Was there something else bothering you?" Maybe his promises hadn't been good enough. They hadn't been, for a lot of people.

“No, what makes ya say that?” Cid asked back a little too quickly. He was setting himself up for being interrogated so he tried to relax his body and deflect it. “I'm fine, jus'- got a lot on m' mind s'all. Maybe I oughta leave ya alone if I'm keepin' ya up.”

"I can do without sleep, but I don't want to be without you. Especially if you're troubled." He'd done this. He shouldn't have asked Cid out, shouldn't have presumed anything, and shouldn't have pushed so hard to be allowed to come back to live with Cid in the first place. "Turn this way, Cid. Rest against me."

Cid did as he was told, awkwardly turning to face Vincent and carefully keeping his eyes averted. He felt mildly uncomfortable, but didn't say anything. He shut his eyes and rested his forehead against Vincent's shoulder.

"You don't think I can do it," Vincent said, testing the words. "You think I'll leave you, or you really think I see staying with you as being trapped and that one day I'll want...what? Freedom? Freedom is what you brought me, Chief. I can't ease your fears in a single night and I can't ask for faith that I haven't earned, but I've come this far with you and I am, if nothing else, a stubborn ass. There's a lot of myself that I still need to find, but I know now that I'm going to find it with you."

For once Cid didn't have anything to say. Vincent had more or less hit the nail right on the head, and it frightened him a little that the gunman was so perceptive when for so long it had seemed as though Vincent hadn't had a clue as what was going on. Face heating up in shame and embarrassment, Cid sat up. “Maybe I don't,” he finally conceded. “Maybe I feel like yer stayin' out 'o some misplaced sense 'o obligation.” Cid ran his hands through his hair, making it stand straight up. “I know ya, Vincent. I know ya can't stay in one place fer long and yeah, I'm waiting fer th' day when ya move on 'cause I know it's comin'. I think about it 'cause who doesn't fixate on th' day they die, huh?” Cid's shoulders slumped. “Y'know how hard it is t' watch ya sometimes? Tryin' t' remember who y' are, 'r even remember a sense 'o self? Y' hold ever' one away 'n I have 't wonder sometimes how honest yer bein' with me.”

"If I _wanted_ to be that way, if I wanted to hold everyone away, I wouldn't be here. I want to get better. You...I'm afraid that if I don't shut down on what I feel, it would be too much. I never handled the more complicated emotions very well. When I was young..." Vincent broke off there, shaking his head. "You wouldn't have recognized me by the way I acted. I was so carefree, and I think I've been trying to recapture that instead of learning to be who I am now. I'm afraid that there's nothing at all to me," Vincent whispered. "And I don't want to learn that. I don't want to have to show you that."

“How c'n ya say that?” Cid blurted, looking down at Vincent over his shoulder, blue eyes wide with shock. “Vincent, how c'n ya say there's nothin' to ya?” He shifted on the bed so that he could look down at Vincent more easily. “There's s' much there; honor, integrity, intelligence, compassion. I know I said it was hard t' watch ya, but th' times when ya don't get lost... those 'r th' moments that make me s' happy I can't look away from ya. Those're th' times when I'm s' proud of ya that I'm fit t' bust wide open. 'N hell Vincent, ya wouldn't 'a recognized- well maybe ya would've, but I ain't th' same person I was when I w's younger either. Wouldn't wanna be,” Cid muttered. He dared to reach out and touch Vincent's face with the tips of his fingers in the silence that ensued. “Y'know they all say that love is th' greatest force on th' planet? Y'wanna know what I think? I think it's a load o' shit. I think it's th' most destructive force there is. Meteor y' c'n fight, but love? It rips ya t' pieces b'fore ya know what hit'cha. Leaves ya bleedin' 'n in pieces behind it.”

"So does time," Vincent added quietly. "Endless time with no love in it. I've been trying to fight _that_ , but it's no more possible than fighting love. I _do_ want to be the person I remember being. I think you might have loved him, too, and you might just have tamed him when no one else could. All I can give you now is what I have, as I find it. Don't think it means that I can't love you, or even that I don't. I just haven't found the bridges yet to get it to you."

Cid smiled sadly. “Even if ya don't, yer here, 'n that's enough.” He had forgotten how easy they had it, people like him: mortal, fragile, running on borrowed time. When the end came that was it, all their struggles were over; the pain stops, the agony of love stops and they find peace. Vincent didn't have that.   _Hurry up 'n find 'em if yer gonna find 'em, honey, 'r else I'm gonna be dead 'n gone by th' time ya do._ But would that be such a bad legacy? Reacquainting Vincent with his humanity? Cid didn't think so. He placed a warm, comforting hand on Vincent's bare shoulder and felt the ache in his chest ease a little.

“I'm a selifsh ol' bastard, Vincent, 'n I ferget that sometimes. I'm sorry fer that.” He eased back down next to Vincent, this time onto his back. “'N fer th' record, up until I ruined it, I had a good time tonight 'n I hope it don't scare ya away from askin' me again if y' find yerself bored 'n lookin' fer somethin' t' do. I enjoyed spendin' time with ya.”

"I didn't ask you because I was bored. I asked you because I had been thinking about you and I wanted to spend time with you," Vincent sighed, instinctively curling toward Cid and settling his head on the man's shoulder. "You know that." Cid did now, anyway, since Vincent had told him. "And you know you didn't ruin anything." He slid an arm over Cid, enjoying the solid muscle at the man's chest and abdomen. It was very impressive, and Vincent sighed again as he reminded himself that he couldn't follow his lingering fingers with his mouth. Not tonight.

Cid grinned, working his arm under Vincent to come out by his friend's head. Bending his elbow, he began to play his fingers through Vincent's soft black hair. He kissed the top of Vincent's head and smiled. “Y'know flattery'll get'cha everywhere, right?” he asked softly, loving the feel of Vincent laying against him; the warmth of the gunman's body and Vincent's calm, steady presence. The ache eased a little bit more. He rested his chin against Vincent's head and let his eyes droop closed. “I love you, Vincent Valentine,” Cid said on a sigh while his fingers kept stroking Vincent's hair, carrying Cid finally into slumber.


End file.
